


i gá duit

by AlphaBanana



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaBanana/pseuds/AlphaBanana
Relationships: Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Male Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	i gá duit

There’s something almost alarming about the way Nate looks at Mickey. That much reverence for one person should surely be a sin.

And Mickey has hardly _done_ anything - a batch of white chocolate and blueberry muffins (made as much for Tapeesa as for Nate) and a smile when Nate rounded the corner of the kitchen. But clearly, that is enough for Nate. Mickey _being_ , _here_ , with _him_ , is enough.

After four months, Mickey still isn’t sure how he feels about it. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to it.

Nate’s legs are long, and he can cross the space in just a few broad steps, and Mickey cannot help the reflexive smile on his lips as he looks up at Nate.

“How-ye.” The informal greeting normally irritates Nate (though he always, _always_ pretends otherwise), but Nate’s smile remains unchanged, warm brown eyes crinkled at the edges as he leans down to murmur against Mickey’s lips.

“Je t’adore.” And then Nate is kissing him and Mickey _wants_ —

But Nate refuses to be rushed, even when Mickey’s tongue darts out to taste the cinnamon sweetness of Nate’s lips, even when he runs his hands across the lean muscles in Nate’s torso, even when he pulls at Nate’s hair hard enough to break Nate’s concentration.

“Behave, _jaan_ .” And just like that, at the slight sternness in Nate’s tone, Mickey’s blood is molten, pulsing under his skin. Nate _knows_ (of _course_ he knows) and the next kiss turns desperate, tongues and teeth and _Nate_ , just Nate.

At some point, Mickey needs to breathe, and Nate’s lips never leave his skin, burning a trail down his neck as he kisses first one sparrow, then its twin. As stubble scrapes pleasingly against the sensitive skin at his throat, Mickey feels protected and secret and _safe_ in a way that he never has, even as Nate’s fangs descend a little against his will, whisper against his jawline.

Nate freezes against Mickey, and their familiar push and pull resurfaces, both of them wounded by others and by themselves and still not entirely trusting the reassurance that the other can give.

“It’s alright, _mo cuishle_. It’s alright.” Mickey lowers his voice strokes slightly at Nate’s hair even as Nate still, as always, pulls away - but the hollow, guilty darkness does not stain warm brown irises the way it has in the past. And that has to be enough, for now.

Hesitates for a moment before coaxing Nate back down to meet his eye. “It’s alright, Nate.”

Nate nods, and presses a tentative kiss to Mickey’s lips, and their dance starts again.

Before long, Mickey is trading gasps and moans with Nate until he realises, abruptly, that his back is against the wall and his gasp blurs into a growl as Nate’s hands are on him, on his shirt, _under_ his—

Mickey’s hips jerk forward instinctively as one of Nate’s unfairly elegant fingers moves at a leisurely pace, runs through the coarse hair on his chest and circles a nipple lazily. Mickey’s hands scrabble uselessly at Nate’s arms, trying to urge him on.

“Fuck, Nate, _please_.”

Nate chuckles and splays his other hand on Mickey’s belly, thumb rubbing in shallow circles that are anything but soothing.

When he eventually speaks, Nate’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. “Do you want—”

“ _Yes_. Nate, I want you. Do you—”

“You are all I have ever wanted.”

Later, Mickey will ask Nate about that, about the unbearable softness in brown eyes deep enough to drown in when the words trip off his tongue like honey. Right now Nate’s hand is in Mickey’s jeans, and the hand that strokes Mickey’s already-hard cock is soft as silk as it traces a path from base to tip following the slight curve to the left. It is all Mickey can do to push his jeans off, lean to the right and fish a bottle of lube from a nearby dresser and push it into Nate’s hands with shaking fingers.

The scent of arousal, rich and heady, is thick enough in the air that even Mickey can smell it, and Mickey wonders just how overwhelming it must be for Nate, vampiric senses ablaze. He takes a moment to run soothing hands over Nate’s shoulder blades as he unstoppers the bottle and slicks his fingers, teases him and then sinks in.

A low moan leaves Mickey at that, head thunking against the wall with a low thud - and Mickey feels his lips twitch and his heart flutter when he sees that even now, with one long finger buried inside him, Nate is concerned for him.

Mickey whines when Nate withdraws his finger, then gasps as he is hoisted up so he can look Nate directly in the eye. Nate begins again, sinking a finger into Mickey and Mickey feels _whole_ , in a way he never has before, even with other lovers. Kisses Nate deeply to chase those phantoms away but must retreat with a gasp when Nate adds another finger to join the first.

The noises leaving Mickey can barely be described as words - at some point his pleas transcend the need for speech, can only be seen as his soul trying to speak to Nate. And Nate _answers_ , holding him close and lavishing attention on his lips, his cheeks, his collarbone even as he lines himself up to sink into Mickey, lips never leaving his skin as they whisper endearments that warm Mickey’s soul.

Mickey thinks that Nate’s mouth might just be the end of him - so he pulls his lips to meet his own, kissing Nate in time to the pace Nate has set, feeling Nate’s answering groan ripple through him.

Nate is all arms and legs, Mickey has known that since looking at him, and Mickey likes them best when they coil around him as if they mean to keep him, as if they mean to be a home for him and his hurts. Mickey can feel his mouth drop open reflexively as he pants through each rise and fall. When Mickey feels able to open his eyes he can see Nate before him, enraptured as if Mickey is art in his hands, even as his thrusts grow hard enough to make Mickey’s teeth rattle.

“Talk to me, _habibi_. Talk to me.” Nate pleads, and Mickey remembers through the haze just how much Nate likes his voice, places his lips as close to Nate’s ear as he can manage with the pace and smiles, letting his voice drop into a low octave and rumble across Nate’s senses.

“You feel so good, _so_ good, Nate I — I never want you to stop touching me. I — _fuck_ , yes, _a ghrá mo chroí, mo fhíorghra, mo shíorghra_ —”

Mickey no longer has the presence of mind to wonder if Nate knows what the words mean, if he knows that they are the only words Mickey has to express what Nate has been craving from him, or if it is merely the sensation of Mickey’s voice, gravelly and rough next to his ear, that urges Nate on until he is thrusting _there_ , making stars burst behind Mickey’s eyelids, under his skin.

“ _Nate_ —fuck, _there_ —” And Nate obliges, as ever, steadies his feet and angles himself so perfectly Mickey could _scream_ , cannot say with all certainty that he doesn’t.

“Mickey, look at me. Look at me, _jaan_ .” Mickey pries his eyes open enough to see Nate, beautiful and undone and there is _love_ there, burning bright under the surface, that Mickey still does not understand, and does not _need_ to in truth, just needs to accept and embrace and lo—

Nate’s fingers are long and soft as silk, and they are all Mickey needs to freefall into bliss with Nate as his anchor, sobbing out moans as his vision turns to white. Nate is quick to follow him, growling low in the base of his throat, and then they are motionless against the wall, unwilling to be parted from one another.

Mickey laughs softly, still feeling euphoria buzz and fizz in his veins even as he sags in Nate’s hold, unable to support his own weight.

“Shower?” Nate’s voice is rough, still half a growl, and Mickey smiles against Nate’s shoulder, warm and comforting as ever.

“Shower.”


End file.
